


Cowboys and Perils

by UnitedPen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bad Mission, Jealousy, M/M, Prompt Fill, Seriously Injured, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnitedPen/pseuds/UnitedPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A growing collection of Napollya prompts. Each chapter will be a different standalone story, unless there is a need for more than one chapter.</p><p>Latest prompt: Napoleon is badly injured during a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A mission gone wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A mission goes bad, Napoleon and Illya get into a fight, they somehow end up confessing to each other, and if you're comfortable writing smut, top!Illya with Napoleon surprised at how sex with feeling behind it is. If you're not, makeout session?

“You should have known there was alarm!”

Illya was furious. The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out of a locked vault in Budapest to get an arms dealer’s records who was getting a little too friendly with both the United States and Cambodia. From there, Waverly could use the evidence to shut the man down.

In and out. Or it should have been if Napoleon had, once again, not realized that the vault had an upgraded alarm. Now they had no papers and were stuck in some run-down motel until either Waverly or Gaby could make contact. All Illya could do is sit on the old creaky bed and try to control the tapping of his fingers.

“This whole mess is your fault!”

He avoided looking at Napoleon in an effort to resume some semblance of calm. Illya had thought they were getting closer and working better as a team. And they were. Mission after mission, Illya was starting to appreciate Gaby and Napoleon’s talents. Especially Napoleon’s. The man was a damn good thief and could collect necessary information. He was also strong and Illya couldn’t help but admire his ingenuity.

But he needed a partner with common sense, not one who missed little details or who was so close to getting shot in the head that Illya could swear his heart was trying to leave his chest until they managed to get out of the mansion via a stolen car. That feeling was…unexpected and for now Illya attributed it to shock at the man he now unfortunately thought of as a friend being stupid.

“Listen Peril,” Illya still avoided looking up.

“Yes, I missed the alarm,” Napoleon said in a soft, casual tone as he removed his cuff links.

“But you are conveniently forgetting that the reason I was hurrying was because Dominik’s little girlfriend, who I was distracted rather well at the party, realized something was wrong and decided to come after us after you stole the photographs of our “session.”

“She should not be photographing you in that way,” Illya growled. The tapping continued.

“She does it with all of her lovers. It was in our briefing notes, that I know you read,” Napoleon said, now removing his tie slowly, trying to decipher Illya’s anger.

“I don’t understand why you felt the need to steal them that second. Gaby was supposed to remove any evidence from the room later on in the night.”

“It is not the problem,” Illya said. “The problem was alarm.”

“No I don’t think that’s it,” Napoleon continued, infuriating Illya. “You compromised the mission. She would have found us either way. And this isn’t the first time.”

Illya finally looked up. Instead of the smirk he expected, all he saw was a look of bewilderment on his partner’s face before he fixed his eyes on the coarse carpet.

“You broke up the dancing in Paris. You pretended to be a security guard with that woman in Hong Kong so she would leave my room. And those are just two examples,” Napoleon said.

“They use you.”

“And I use them,” Illya could tell Napoleon wanted eye contact, but he couldn’t look into those confused blue eyes.

“They’re marks. They’re connections. It doesn’t mean anything. Not the kissing, not the sex, none of it. It never has with anyone!”

A flash of light trailed Napoleon’s words as a lamp hurdled to the ground, followed closely by the bedside table as Illya reached forward.

* * *

 

Napoleon blinked. He was sure he would be joining the table and the lamp on the ground, but instead, his back made contact with the semi-soft mattress as Illya leaned over him.

A gulp could be heard from Napoleon. Although his dreams sometimes got this point, in reality, he was a little frightened of the blond man hovering over him, although he would go to the grave before admitting it.

“It should,” Illya muttered, his accent getting thicker.

“What?” Napoleon was sure he had lost the ability for conscious thought besides the body close to him.

“Mean something.” With that, lips touched Napoleon’s in a surprisingly gentle manner, making his eyes flutter closed. Their lips continued to move in sync, followed by their bodies…..

* * *

 

“Why are you crying?” Illya asked later, as they lay together, Napoleon not quite touching his partner as he caught his breath.

“I’m not,” Napoleon blinked, turning and moving further away.

“I saw tears,” the Russian said. But that was all. Napoleon realized he wouldn’t push, wouldn’t touch anymore until Napoleon moved or spoke. Something rose inside his chest.

“I’m scared,” he finally answered.

“It will be ok,” Illya said.

With those four simple words, Napoleon found the strength to look at Illya’s worried face.

“You were right,” Napoleon said. “It should mean something. And with you….it meant something at least. Something amazing. So I’m scared, but in a good way.”

A rare smile.

“It’s going to be ok.”


	2. Smoking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about this for a Napollya prompt: smoking? Like, difference in when they decide to light up, if the smoke curls differently, maybe even lending one out? I have no preference; I just think guys in dapper suits smoking is pretty hot xD

For Napoleon, a cigarette was an indulgence.

The habit started during his time in the war, eventually growing from one cigarette a week to a pack a day. As his thievery became commonplace, he found nicking a cigarette to be surprisingly easy, but his cravings slowly died down as the need for something shiny, something new or something fabulously wealthy grew.

Slowly, a cigarette, a cigar or even a pipe turned into a reward for a heist gone right. Then later, as become, for lack of a better word, property of the CIA, it was a way to de-stress as he pushed himself to at least make some good out of his punishment.

Then came Illya. And suddenly Napoleon found a new use for his smokes. The man would constantly chide Napoleon about his “disgusting pastime” and “really, Cowboy, do you smoke at every party,” but Napoleon wasn’t a talented agent due to simple charm. Illya may complain with his words, but with the right suit, Napoleon found wandering blue eyes would catch his and move until Gaby or someone else grabbed his attention. Sometimes Napoleon would wrap his lips a certain way or drag out the smoke, just to see how long the moments would last. A lip licking a few times now had rewarded him.

It was all in good fun, Napoleon reasoned, every time the smoke billowed around him and he smirked at his partner. Nothing would ever come of it. 

* * *

Illya heard the piercing whistle right before Gaby’s small scream. Explosions echoed below their perch.  There was no way Napoleon was alive in the chaos, Illya knew, but that did not stop him from racing down the hill, barely sparing a glance at Gaby.

He was expecting blood. A body. Not Napoleon leaning against a tree, breathing heavily as he stared at the dud. For once, the smirk was gone as his shaking hands reached for a cigarette

Illya stormed over and tore the cigarette out of Napleon’s mouth, bringing it to his own.

“Lighter,” he growled.

“What happened to, ‘I will never smoke?’ Napoleon asked, voice confident, but hands still trembling as he brought out the lighter. Surprisingly, he managed get the cigarette lit without burning Illya’s mouth before fishing out one for himself.

Illya continued to watch until the hands grew a bit steadier.

“Things change.” 

* * *

“That tie does not go with that suit,” Napoleon noted, smile growing wider at Illya’s hard stare. The months following the dud shell had brought different gazes of varying intensity, but it was always nice to see the classics.

“Try this one,” Napoleon pulled out a sleek, but subtle red tie, slowly reaching Illya, so he could personally assist with undoing his partner’s spotted tie.

Of course, of his hands started wandering down and into pockets and further, it was merely curiosity after all.

“My favourite brand,” Napoleon noted, holding the pack up to the light.

“You do always seem to bring the right kind.”

“Let’s just go Cowboy.”

There would always be time for a covert smoke before tracking down the enemy.


	3. Illya gets jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wanted a Napollya prompt? How about they're on a mission and Napoleon is forced to flirt with a guy and Illya is there to see it and gets super jealous.

This was definitely not Napoleon’s favourite idea.

He, Gaby and Illya were sitting in Waverly’s office, trying to digest their next mission. Gaby and Illya would act as a couple again (of course, Napoleon thought, a little bitterly), but instead of Napoleon seducing a woman, he was to go after the king’s nephew, Jacques.

A man. A known homosexual in certain circles who understood the implications of his close relationship with the ruling family.

Napoleon wasn’t a stranger to venturing over to the other side, so to speak. There were some lonely nights in the army, his time as a thief had meant dealing with people who were very involved in the underground and lately, when he couldn’t stop thinking about a certain man with blue eyes and blond hair, he found himself visiting exclusive clubs.

But this, this was different. Contrary to what Gaby and Illya thought, he actually felt sort of dirty when he had to sleep with women to find their information. Although he thought he hid it well behind his blasé attitude.

He knew the same secret feeling of shame would be the same with a man, but with an added element of danger if the wrong parties saw.

But Waverly assured him it was crucial to get the weapons information from the king.

“So what exactly do you need me to do?” Napoleon asked, as his way of agreeing to his role. He looked straight at his new boss to avoid glancing at his partners and their judgment. But his time with the C.I.A. had taught him to read people’s movements out of the corner of his eyes.

Gaby was frowning, a regular look she had adopted whenever Napoleon was ordered to coax a person into bed . On certain nights when he lay awake after going after a mark, he wondered whether Gaby was concerned about him. But he did not allow himself to entertain the idea for long because he didn’t think Gaby should really put her efforts into thinking about Napoleon. He would probably never ask her what she was discerning.

Strangely, Illya was wound up like a spring, not unlike when he was about to dive headfirst into a psychotic episode. This confused Napoleon and left him wondering what part of the mission had set the Red Peril off. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized it probably had something to do with Napoleon going after a man.

Apparently, Waverly noticed Illya’s mannerisms as well because instead of answering Napoleon, he addressed the blond agent

“Kuryakin, is this mission going to be a problem?” Waverly asked.

Hands tightened around the armrests.

“No problem. Job will get done.”

Waverly continued to watch Illya with caution, but as Gaby’s hand moved to Illya’s arm, he seemed to think the team was ready to move on.

“Here is how it is going to go…”

* * *

The party was going well, all things considered. Under Gaby and Illya’s surveillance, Napoleon was able to pick the nephew out of the crowd.

He wasn’t too bad on the eyes, Napoleon noted. Blond hair, blue eyes, like Illya, but a little shorter. He smiled more, but had a feral look that Illya did not carry with him.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Jacques whispered. Napoleon forced himself out of his head and brought out a smirk, which Jacques matched. Apparently, discussing crown jewels and a few well-placed comments about Jacques’ attire led the fly to the honey.

Napoleon swallowed, willing himself to keep the smile on his face as they made their way up to a hotel room.

* * *

“Where did they go?” Illya spat out through gritted teeth.

“What?” Gaby answered, bewildered. They had both seen Napoleon work his charm and they both knew what usually came after.

“Are they going off to have sex together?”

“I don’t know, Illya,” Gaby’s sarcasm was shining through. “It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.

“I thought with man, just flirting. Not this”

“Why does it matter?” Gaby continued, a bit annoyed that Illya had obviously avoided thinking about where the mission was headed before they came to the venue.

She sensed Illya’s rage was reaching a boiling point and she knew he wasn’t prejudiced against a gay man. She had spent countless hours listening to Illya complain about Cowboy and his tactics when they shared a room. The man was easier to read than some of her fashion magazines.  

Any other time, Gaby would encourage Illya’s obvious possessiveness, as she had almost been close to asking Waverly to pair her with Napoleon for once. That would stop the women Gaby could tell Napoleon wasn’t always happy to share the company of and they all seemed to make Illya fume over a chessboard anyway. Repressed feelings were not what she signed up for.

But clearly, it was something she would have to deal with as she watched Illya follow Napoleon and his new companion up the stairs.

* * *

Illya saw Napoleon and Jacques enter their room, barely waiting a minute before barging in. His thoughts were hazy and while in the back of his mind, he knew this would definitely compromise their cover, he was mainly focused on breaking up the scene he imagined in the hotel room.

The two were sitting together on a couch in the main room and Illya allowed himself a moment of relief that the bed was unoccupied, before the anger took over again.

“Get away from him,” Illya growled.

“Mr. Bondarenko, what are you doing here?” Napoleon feigned calmness, but coughed in warning.

Jacques was now standing.

“Who is he?”

“A friend,” Napoleon was now looking at Illya as if he had grown horns, before smoothing his features into indifference.

“Russian?”

“Ukrainian,” Napoleon was approaching Illya now, who was standing stock-still, hands clenched into fists. “Escaped with his wife a couple of months ago.”

But Illya did not appear to take in any of the conversation, not even when Napoleon told him to go find his lovely wife who must be getting lonely downstairs.

“You come with me,” Now Illya had finally turned to Napoleon.

Jacques stepped forward.

“Did you not hear what he said?” The untamed grin was back. “I suggest you leave.”

“Back off,” Illya was getting louder and Napoleon knew he was losing control of the situation, so he quickly went over and put his hand on Illya’s chest, surprised to feel the quick pulsation.

“This is ridiculous. You’re going to sleep with pretty boy?”

Napoleon’s eyes widened as Illya careened their mission off of a cliff.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Napoleon lied, ignoring how his voice shook.

“It’s disgusting,” Illya kept going, ignoring the hurt in Napoleon’s eyes.

“He sees you as conquest. Are you just going to be easy?”

“Whoa.” Now Jacques was speaking again. “I’ll have you know…”

A fist flew and Napoleon groaned inwardly as Jacques fell to the carpet. He quickly bent down, as if there was any hope to salvage their plan.

“I can’t believe you did that.” He couldn’t help himself. Whether Illya was acting out homophobic tendencies or something else, this was completely unprofessional.

“He using you. He will never love you,” Illya practically scoffed, looking ready to pounce on Jacques as Napoleon struggled to process his words.

A flurry of heels clicking finally made Illya look away from the scene. 

“There you are!” It was Gaby. “What on earth are you doing?”

Although he was still stressed, Napoleon knew he had to finish his meeting with Jacques, whether the outcome was Napoleon using the concealed gun in his jacket or something else.  

“Mrs. Bondarenko, I think your husband needs to rest. He might have had a little too much to drink” Napoleon said.

Gaby nodded and silently, in the way only she could, steered Illya out of the room, before meeting Napoleon’s eyes. He knew she wanted to talk later and he agreed wholeheartedly with her response.

“Well, I guess the truth is out.”

Reluctantly, Napoleon stopped staring after Illya to force himself to listen to Jacques.

“That was an ex-lover, was it not?” Jacques asked.

It was all Napoleon could do to not show his surprise. He couldn’t believe Jacques had come to that conclusion, but whatever worked.

“Yes, now where were we?”

* * *

A couple of hours later, Napoleon found Gaby waiting for him in his own hotel room after he had slipped out of Jacques’ bed. Surprisingly, playing the sympathy card had gone very well. While Napoleon spun a tale of an affair gone wrong, Jacques was happy to share his own secrets, some of which included the king.

Based on Jacques’ information, finding the king’s notes had been extremely easy and it was those papers he dropped in front of Gaby.

“I see you got the job done,” she said, nodding her approval.

“Where’s Peril?” Napoleon was not ready to pour over the papers right now. Gaby could skim through the information while he had a little chat with his other partner. “Did he lock himself in the bathroom again?

“No, after destroying our table and chairs, he is now huddled on the ground of the balcony, looking a bit pathetic if you ask me."

Napoleon relaxed as he watched Gaby sip the vodka she had conveniently taken from Napoleon’s bar.  

“You know he was jealous?”

“Is that what that was?” Napoleon stopped his own journey to the bar, finding Gaby peering over her glass.

“Yes,” Gaby said. “Solo, I know your jealousy is limited to glaring at me and Illya’s perceived relationship, which hasn’t gone any farther than an almost-kiss by the way, but his has extended beyond that.”

Napoleon shook his head.

“I can’t ask him if that’s what his anger is about tonight,” Napoleon said. “He’ll probably deny it.”

“Or reject me,” a small voice inside Napoleon said immediately afterwards.

“Fine, be miserable,” Gaby said, turning back to the pages.

As the papers rustled, Napoleon’s mind buzzed. Sure, Gaby had called Illya pathetic, but Napoleon knew his pining was also pitiful. But he was tired of being desolate. And if there was any chance of a smidge of happiness, however fleeing, during the next five years of his sentence, then who was he to deny himself some pleasure.

It had been so long…

“Perhaps, I will talk to him. His behavior was completely unacceptable.”

Napoleon moved quickly, missing Gaby’s smile as she watched him go.

* * *

One, two, three knocks before Illya emerged from the biting wind of the balcony to open the glass doors.

“Cowboy, hi.”

With wind-burned cheeks, ruffled hair, a red nose (and were those faint tear tracks?), Napoleon thought Illya looked as vulnerable as he felt. He resisted the urge to take the tall man in his arms and instead gestured toward the bedroom, which still had upright furniture.

“Can we talk?”

Instead of answering, Illya followed Napoleon until they were both seated on the two beds, facing each other.

“Illya…” God, this could go so wrong. “What happened today, it could have cost us the mission.”

“I know,” Illya said, looking anywhere but Napoleon. “I am very sorry.”

Napoleon could tell he was, but he knew it was important to understand where Illya’s head was at in case Napoleon was ever asked to do a similar task.

“Those things you said to me, why did you say them?”

Silence, exactly what Napoleon was afraid.

“I don’t get it,” Napoleon said. “You are usually very intelligent during our missions and are very careful not to blow any of our covers. And I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but I want to understand. And your comments were extremely disrespectful. I didn’t deserve those.”  

There was no movement from Illya for several minutes, so Napoleon turned to go.

“I like you,”

The voice was very faint.

“Sorry?” Napoleon knew he sounded startled.

Illya stood, stepping close to Napoleon. His voice rose as it got more desperate.

“I like you. It scares me. I don’t know if wrong, but seeing you with that man made me lose temper. I do not want him with you.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Napoleon said. He waited for Illya to move, not wanting to risk scaring the anxious man.

“I am really sorry,” Now Illya had grabbed Napoleon’s hand.

“Hmmm,” Napoleon pretended to think. “Maybe, we can suggest another system to Waverly that doesn’t include my rendezvous with other men. Or woman. Well except one man.”

And as he angled his body to meet Illya’s, Napoleon actually felt untarnished.


	4. Badly injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napollya prompt: where solo gets hurt really badly and Illya nearly kills all the dudes there because hes so upset that they hurt him and solo has to make sure he doesn't go on a mass murder spree

There was too much blood.

It had taken three days of hunting through the darkest, lowest points of the city, speaking with the seediest men and a few well-placed hits, but Illya had finally found Napoleon.

Chains surrounded the wrists and ankles of the man who was huddled in the corner, face turned toward the wall, lying in a large, growing pool of red. Dead was the only word that came to Illya’s mind as he stared at the motionless body, feet frozen to the floor, head pounding. There was too much blood.

Slowly, after minutes of tortured breathing, or maybe hours, Illya felt himself move toward his partner, turning him gently for a quick assessment. Four gunshot wounds, whip marks and bruises making Napoleon almost unrecognizable. He felt cold, so Illya gathered him in his arms, wanting to warm the dead man, or share the chill until it could still his own broken heart. He used a shaking thumb to wipe away the water hitting Napoleon’s cheek from the moldy ceiling before he realized the drops were coming from his own eyes.

The sound of a gun cocking made Illya turn quickly.

“Agent Kuryakin, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

There is something familiar about the pasty man’s face, but Illya does not have time to sift through his memories now.

“You killed him,” Illya’s voice was deep, almost animal. 

“A necessary casualty,” said the man. “I don't regret it although I will miss his pretty face. Now for you…”

The monologue was cut short as Illya softly put down Napoleon, before striding forward and grabbing the gun in one swoop.

“I would stop talking,” he said.

The man actually smiled and Illya could see henchmen moving behind him out of the corner of his eye.

“Expect me to scream like your partner did?”

One shot in the centre of the man’s eye was all it would take for Illya to put the guy down, Waverly’s request to keep him alive for information be damned. His director’s earlier orders made him hesitate a second too long, however, as one of the burlier guys suddenly grabbed him around his neck.

The slimy man stepped forward, unconcerned about the barrel of the gun, perhaps calmed by Illya’s choking sounds.

“Your partner is a bit of a coward don’t you think?”

Red, lighter than Napoleon’s blood, clouded Illya’s vision. A bang echoed through the room, making the man crumple before Illya dropped the henchman holding him to the ground with a fatal blow to the head.

His mind continued whirring as he charged at the other men, his knuckles hitting bare skin, a desperate feeling of satisfaction filling him as he imagined every one of them harming his Napoleon.

“Illya,” That voice wasn’t from one of the guards.

Convinced his mind was playing tricks on him, Illya turned back to the task at hand.

“Illya, _please._

The voice sounded so terrified that Illya dropped the man he was holding by the front of a crumpled uniform.

Napoleon was leaning against the wall, periodically wincing as his hands grasped at the wound on his stomach. The crimson colour was now over his hands, but instead of focusing on the slick liquid, Napoleon was staring into Illya’s horrified eyes.

“Looks…,” a cough led to a small amount of blood seeping out of the corner of his lips. “Looks like I need your help, Peril. Stop killing. Come here.”

Another coughing fit left Napoleon spewing blood out of his mouth, causing Illya to finally move to his side.

“So these chains are getting a bit uncomfortable,” Napoleon’s attempt at humour was undermined by the weakness of his voice.

“How can you joke?” But Illya couldn’t be angry as he watched Napoleon’s eyes flicker close.

“Got to…got to stay awake somehow,” Napoleon answered, but his eyes didn’t open.

“Ok, keep telling jokes,” Illya said, shrugging off his jacket to use on the stomach wound. “Open eyes too.”

“And see your mass murder spree? No thanks.” It wasn’t lost on Illya that Napoleon’s voice was getting fainter.

“Then look at me,” Illya said in a demanding tone.

Napoleon eyes cracked open and Illya wasn’t surprised to see unshed tears that he was sure mirrored his own.

“I’ve got no more jokes,” said Napoloen.

“What…,” Now Illya’s voice was the one to take on a pleading tone. “What about that time we argued about your ridiculous fashion choices in Italy.”

“That was fun,” Napoleon’s eyes shut again in the split second Illya took to adjust the cover of his jacket.  “We really did have a good time, Peril. The best.” 

“No!” Illya was almost screaming now, shaking the unresponsive Napoleon. “You don’t go!”

There was nothing but stillness. Illya had never felt more helpless, more hopeless and all he could think to do was take a tiny bit of the red away by meeting Napoleon’s lips with his own.

* * *

“So I think you and I need to have a refresher in first-aid,” Gaby said, as she collapsed in the chair next to Illya. The last week had been exhausting; from searching for Napoleon in a restricted area before Waverly informed her Illya had found him first.

Discovering Illya cradling Napoleon’s body was a sight she would like to erase from her mind, but at the time she was able to break through the despair she felt upon seeing the intense anguish on Illya’s face and the lack of emotion on Napoleon’s beaten one. It hadn’t taken long to find a pulse, a very faint one, but still enough for her to signal to the other U.N.C.L.E. agent behind her to bring the extraction team. She let them deal with the very unfortunate task of tearing Illya away from Napoleon.

She then was instructed to take a volatile Illya back to the their safe house, where she helped him wash (she pretended not to see the nausea flood his face at the stained clothes on the bathroom floor) and eat a few crackers, before he demanded to be taken to the hospital Waverly had picked because of his contacts.

While Illya was stoic as they waited for Napoleon’s surgery to be over, Gaby couldn’t stop fidgeting, alternating between pacing, drinking coffee and short naps. She nearly started dancing when the doctor came out to tell them Napoleon had survived the surgery, but settled on hugging Illya instead.

Illya just asked to be led to Napoloen’s room. He finally told Gaby what had happened in the cell, leaving out the kiss, on their second day of waiting.

“Why?” Now Illya had taken up near-permanent residence in Napoleon’s private room, only leaving to sleep for up to four hours or change his clothes. Each day, the doctor assured them multiple times Napoleon was just resting to heal after his extensive injuries.

“Should probably check for a pulse, even if it’s the man you adore,” Gaby said, waving away the wide eyes and startled sound.

“I can’t say I’m shocked. I always had my suspicions and it’s allowed me to warm to the idea,” she continued. She originally was surprised at the lack of disgust she felt toward the knowledge of a future relationship between the two agents. It was illegal, she wasn’t stupid, but maybe some things were meant to be.

“Just be careful,” Gaby stood to leave. “And Waverly’s coming in to speak to you.”

Illya had managed to smooth his features before the head of U.N.C.L.E. appeared. The man initially stayed away, allowing the team to process the difficult mission, but checking in almost hourly with the agent he would never admit was one of his favourites.

“Kuryakin,” Waverly nodded. “I wanted to talk to you about the man you shot when you rescued Solo.”

The pasty man. Illya immediately tensed.

“His name was Ruslan. It turns out he knew your father back during the unfortunate embezzling incidents,” Waverly said. There was no way this conversation would go over well, so he sought to finish it quickly. “Although he wasn’t exactly innocent himself.”

“So, Napoleon paid for my family’s errors,” Illya did not know how he would be able to look Napoleon in the eye when he woke up.

“No,” Waverly said. He still needed an effective team, not an agent crippled by guilt. “Napoleon was the unfortunate victim of a very evil man. This is not the first time he has taken a someone due to his perceived wrongs. Although this is the first one who has made it out alive.”

He dropped a thick folder on Illya’s lap.

“Perhaps this will give you and Agent Solo some closure.”

As soon as Waverly had made his exit, Illya thumbed through the folder, trying to memorize the names of every person in Ruslan’s circle, making mental X’s in his head over all of their faces. A couple had already died in the cell, he knew.

“Illya, what are you doing?”

The voice was stronger than the last time Illya heard it. He also took a moment to drink in the clean face, although noting the darkening bruises.

“Seriously, that’s a pretty big folder you have,” Napoleon tried to prop himself on his elbows before groaning as he fell back on his pillow.

“These men hurt you,” Illya said, handing over the papers to Napoleon, happy for the distraction so he didn’t have to express the immense joy welling up inside him. “I will hurt them.”

Napoleon rubbed his head with bandaged hands and Illya was alarmed.

“What’s wrong Cowboy? Are you in pain?”

“No, well a little, but you’re giving me a headache with this plan I’m sure has developed from the guilt you’ve developed in your own mind,” Illya’s eyes narrowed at the wide smile. “As much as I appreciate you plotting revenge, I would rather you envelop me in your muscular arms.”

With a rapid flick of his wrist, Napoleon tossed the folder to the side and patted his bed. 

“Know what I mean?”

Instead of moving, Illya crossed his arms. 

“I see jokes are back.”

“You like them,” Napoleon retorted, but his grin remained.

“How about rest?” Napoleon may have been unconscious for seven days, but Illya could still see dark circles and his repressed yawns.

“How about a kiss?” Napoleon murmured, grasping Illya’s hand before closing his eyes.

Illya checked that the door was closed before leaning forward.

“As many as you want.”


End file.
